The fate of a Witch
by Shadow-StrikeME
Summary: When Morgana Pendragon catches sight of the cold hard eyes of her doom she knows her time is near. Emerys is here. Oneshot. This is a small piece from the start of another fanfiction I have in the works. Slight implication of Mergana.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. I also do not have a beta and this was published before all the kinks where fixed in preparation for my other fic, I mainly just wanted to see how well this segment would be received.

* * *

When she thinks of the battle of Camlann her thoughts fall to Emrys, even her worst nightmares could never compare to the power he held. Entire hordes die without a single word as she watches on powerless to do anything. His power is smothering, even in a body that has no right on a battlefield his very presence changes everything. It always has and she knows it always will.

After the first strike the battlefield freezes, looking on in a mixture of fear and awe while she herself can do nothing but stare. Between them stands two armies and yet when her eyes catch his they are alone. An executioner and his victim. It's in his eyes, cold piercing blue. The eyes of a man who has and will surrender everything in defence of his king. When their eyes clash and magic rages against them they both know his actions have led to this event just as much as hers, if not more. Some would call him a hero, she only sees her doom.

So she rebels, like she always has wanted to. First it was against the injustice of Uther's actions, then the numerous betrayals in her life, she remembers believing her actions were in the name of magic by this point she's not sure if she's resisting the inevitable because she wants to survive this or if she's just so used to clinging to hopeless causes. It doesn't really matter because she would rather die struggling, than fading away like she did in the pits of Amatta.

So she screams, because it's all she can do. "EMRYS!"

For others it is only a name, yet for them it crosses both land and time embedding in their souls to never be forgotten. Hate, desperation, despair, sorrow are only a few of the emotions that carry between them as their eyes hold in a battle of wills that no one else could possibly comprehend. For a moment she sees the blue steel soften and she's reminded of a simpler time when her magic was unknown and she was friends with a happy-go-lucky servant, it is only for a moment though as upon her very eyes she sees them harden again into the one she fears. A small part of her she once thought lost when the poison of betrayal coursed through her veins wonders if she would give this all up just for another moment with those she was forced away from. She almost answers yes, but holding his gaze she knows deep down that it would all be a lie. Enough people have done that, she won't do it to herself.

So she steels herself for what is to come, because it's all she can do. His staff rises and this time when their eyes locks she knows he only has one target. It's pointless but her eyes glow pure gold in pure stubbornness bringing up a shield that is ripped to shreds trying to block the lightning that heads for her, even now though her destiny continues onwards connecting with her chest as she falls to the floor just another body in the masses.

As she blacks out she can't help but feel amused by how forlorn her struggle feels.

* * *

When she thinks back on her death, she can't help but remember how everything beforehand just seems to blur into a patchwork of rage, despair and bitter hatred. As she rushes through the forest on horseback in the search of the King and his Warlock, her mind is devoid of anything but the single desire of revenge. Mordred's death has left her numb, even the magic of the earth that once filled her with such confidence is ignored with the object of her hatred so close. By now he is her single thought, even Emrys's means nothing when she thinks of her brother Arthur and how he murdered Mordred. The closest thing she's had to family for so long.

Finding them is a simple thing once close enough. Emrys's magic burns like a beacon, both capable of filling those around him with courage and those against him with fear. In her blind fury though her mind has no place for fear, as she switches from horseback to running through the forest without a thought. Her magic is volatile and filled with anger as she nears closer even the animals know not to step in her way.

It is in this mood that she hears them, a dieing King and despondent servant crying false hopes to one who has already accepted his fate. He should have sensed her but in the tragedy of his closest friends nearing end her closing essence seems inconsequential. Now that they are so close she finds herself slowing down, her frantic run turning into a confident stroll as she rises over a small hill to find them. For the tired Warlock the only warning to his hectic senses is his horses growing distress as it retreats into the distance.

Even then his focus on Arthur is so single minded that he only considers the escaping stead as his friends transport, rather than question why it does so. It hardly matters though as his pointless screams attempting to catch hold of the horse transition into silence only to be pierced by a voice once so sweet and kind twisted in loathing. "Hello, Emrys."

Turning around as though struck the Warlock finds he can't help but think he has never heard her sound so cold. He can hear her rancor as clear as day, but it is perhaps the bitter pessimism that only comes from one who truly believes they have nothing left to live for which hits like an arrow straight to the heart. Because deep down Emrys knows he is the one who caused this. These thoughts haunt him even as her eyes glow with a vicious fury of sickly gold that sends him hurtling away.

A part of her acknowledges that the landing may have not knocked him unconscious but the rest is sick of the very sight of him, unwilling to check. All she has come for is to confirm Arthur's death and in the process watch the light die in his eyes. Just like he did with Mordred.

Moving across the uneven ground her twisted enjoyment looks almost elegant as she nears her injured brother, his body too tired even to draw the sword that he so helplessly tries to call forth. Still she finds some amusement in his defiance, it is after all a Pendragon trait that she carries just as much as him. Such traits meant little when she was scared out of her wits like a helpless child as her father the very cause of her fear hunted down her kind. It is to her just another sign how pointless the bonds between blood as she looks down on him. Her voice filled with mocking sarcasm and a hint of disdain. "What a joy it is to see you, Arthur."

By now she has reached him, her shadow crawling over his broken body even now surrounded by the darkness of the forest. He tries to move but his body is too heavy for his useless limbs. This is the man who not long ago stood valiantly in battle an army at his command, and now he is as defenseless as a newborn child. "Look at you, not so tall and mighty now."

"You may have won the battle, but you've lost the war." She informs him with sick amusement as she crouches to his level, her eyes filled with insanity taunting him to strike her down. She knows she could so easily end everything now but that would be painless, she wants him to suffer as the blade reaches his heart. It should bleed just like hers does now for all she has lost. "You're going to die by Mordred's hand."

"But don't worry, my dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I will stay and watch over you," She tells him with wicked tenderness that is only betrayed by the eagerness in her eyes. If not for the single minded focus between siblings he might have been able to have pretend they were back in Camelot together and happy. Still though he knows that is a long gone wish as he spots in the background his loyal servant unsheathing a blade. It's glimmering gold even in the shroud of the dark forest is more than enough to identify Excalibur as Morgana's face deforms into a snarling beast. "Until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood."

Only to be interrupted by a voice that just like her own has been warped through the hardships he has experienced for so long. "No, the time for all this bloodshed is over."

In that moment she realises her mistake, how her loathing of the servant has made her blind to the threat he carries. After all he is still Emrys's the man who massacred the saxons without a single word uttered. He may be her doom but now she will not run from it. Her movements are slow as turning around she is careful and patient rather than rushing like she once would have, when she had a future to live for. "I blame myself for what you've become"

In that moment where she has fully turned she recognises the blade, much like the Aithusa forged for Mordred it is no mere mortal weapon. If she allows it she knows it shall be the weapon of her demise. Letting her eyes flicker to Emrys's she knows any hope for her that he once held, that may have staved it's fatal point is long gone. This is her doom without the magic both sides have thought for so long and she knows she should run, "but this has to end."

So she fills herself with all the fake bravado that she once held and forms it into the words that spill from her mouth. "I am a High Priestess. No mortal blade can kill me." She wonders if either of them are aware of how much she wants this, as the blade pierces her and any further provocations die in her throat. It is not a painless death though as her innate resistance fights the blade. Her body is left in helpless moans of agony as an army clutches around her waist she stares up into the cold eyes. "This is no mortal blade. Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath."

With that the blade is removed from her, leaving a death cry in it's place as her body goes numb. She should have fallen to the ground in a heap but a strong arm has guided her to a bed of leaves softening her landing. In that moment dimming green eyes that once sparkled with humour, glee and delight meet with tired blue eyes that have no right on anyone. She wishes she could see the happy excitement in those eyes; the naievity when they first crossed eyes over the execution of a sorcerer neither truly remembers, the heartfelt appreciation when she helped defend his village, the looks of awe from a humble boy with his first crush, but she misses nothing more than the silent care that their fate had denied to become anything better… something more.

"Goodbye, Morgana." Merlin says.


End file.
